Spandex is a wonderful invention. It doesn’t feel good or breathe right or cure disease, it just sucks your flab in at all the right places and pushes it back into unknown crevices in your body that you didn’t realize were there. It re-arranges molecules, I swear. If you are male, you might not have had occasion to don spandex, unless you ride a bike, in which place by all means tuck the tackle into place. Any other reason for wearing it… you might figure none of us want to know about your proclivities to such things, which is a correct assumption.
I found myself buying a beautiful if not slightly star-trek-y evening dress that is two sizes too small. It’s time to upgrade to more powerful spandex, otherwise known as Spanx. (This is a great name; close to Sphinx and Manx and things that could be cat-like.) I tried on the evening dress for a few friends, mentioning that I might be pushing it a bit, but it was on sale, and really, what’s in a number? They all said, Spanx, and no worries! I bought it, thinking it might be what I needed to get me back to the gym. My husband knew nothing of this miracle fabric/flab retracting modern corset. “What?” I said. “You don’t know what Spanx is?” I told him to look around the next time we went to a big party. If anyone is red-faced and sweating, eyes slightly bulging, and makes a noise like a cricket when they walk past, they are wearing Spanx. This is approximately most females, and we commiserate about it like comrades over cocktails. Secretly we know the truth. We are lookin’ GOOD. Who needs to breathe? Short shallow breaths are like…yoga. I used to just go for control top pantyhose, which I thought was miraculous. But Spanx is a whole new ballgame.
So I’m at the gym more often now, with a goal in mind. I’d like the Spanx to help me out, be a friend in my corner; not carry the whole Atlas’ weight, threatening to blow out at any moment like a hull-breach. Which brings me to the next purchase I must make. I have recently discovered another miraculous spandex laden item, a bra called the “ta ta tamer”. It holds the girls in place and makes sure everyone keeps their eyes, but I need two, not one. In the rotation, if this special item isn’t washed, I must use the back up, which used to hold everything, but has lost its lust for its duties and is close to retirement.
It’s fine if I wear a shirt over it.
Last week I didn’t. Did I mention at some point, that I usually forget something on my way to the gym? There is always one item missing, and on this day it was the tank I wear over the tired halter-boulder-holder. I was getting away with it too, until that meddling man stepped in. I was minding my own business, doing a step class in my usual spot (back left, nearest to invisibility) and this guy who is pouring with sweat comes over and proceeds to take a swig from my water bottle. MY water bottle. I wait for him to finish, and notice his is next to mine, only blue. He is chugging it back, sweating all over it, until he notices me waiting for him and then looks around, to discover his very own water bottle, in pristine condition.
“Oh! I am SO SORRY,” he says, and I smile. It is kinda funny, if not a little embarrassing, for him. “Mine is blue, isn’t it!” And we laugh, heh heh. “I don’t have cooties or anything,” he says, handing me back my newly slicked container.
And as he does, his eyes shift ever so slightly to my front. This was a subtle move in his part, but I still caught it. And I thought, huh, he is looking at my chest. And then I remember that I am wearing the bad bra. So I do a .105 millisecond check of the situation and confirm the worst. One boob is still angling for the floor, doing the Charleston, and the other is reaching for the sky, if the sky was also positioned very much to the left side of the Universe. Then I am embarrassed; he sees me getting red in the face which makes him red in the face because he knows and I know that we now both know that my breasts have been flying about completely unchecked and spandex free. So we did what any normal people would do and fled in opposite directions.
I went home and chucked the halter. I need more spandex in my life, not less.